


The Scoundrel

by harpydora



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Gen, Season: Twilight Mirage, set during this year of ours, sometimes you just gotta write about grand mag being depressed and that's valid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-20 01:16:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20666909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harpydora/pseuds/harpydora
Summary: Palaver Petrichor asks him one day mid-shift, and the question strikes him as so odd that Grand Magnificent fumbles the box of goods he's shifting into the waiting transport. "What?" he stammers after he picks up the dropped box and puts it in its proper place. Surely he hadn't heard her correctly.Rolling her eyes, Palaver repeats, "Some of the others and I are going out for drinks tonight. You know, after our shift is over. I was wondering if you'd like to come."





	The Scoundrel

**Author's Note:**

> I did this piece for the Twilight Mirage fanzine, using the track "The Scoundrel" for inspiration! I had a blast working on it and I'm so excited to be sharing it now.
> 
> Come yell with me on twitter @harpydora about all things FatT, TM, or Grand Mag being depressed.

Palaver Petrichor asks him one day mid-shift, and the question strikes him as so odd that Grand Magnificent fumbles the box of goods he's shifting into the waiting transport. "What?" he stammers after he picks up the dropped box and puts it in its proper place. Surely he hadn't heard her correctly.

Rolling her eyes, Palaver repeats, "Some of the others and I are going out for drinks tonight. You know, after our shift is over. I was wondering if you'd like to come." She pulls another box from the pallet and shoves it into place.

The response is automatic; there is no room in Grand's mind for the concept that anyone would (or even _ should_) want to spend time with him. The lie comes easily. "No," he says, the word clipped. "I'm busy." 

Palaver shrugs. "Whatever. No need to get snippy. You stop being busy, we do it every Thursday at eight."

Grand shakes his head. "I'm a busy guy," he continues to lie. There's not a damn thing waiting for him to do when he gets done with his shift. Hasn't been, won't be. The only things waiting for him are his bed, a gun, a marble, and the specter of what he did.

*

He gets home that night and pulls the marble that had once been Ebullience from the drawer of his nightstand. He turns it over in his hand, thumb running along its flawless surface for what must be the thousandth time. In some ways, the feel of it is more familiar than his reflection. His reflection had changed, grown unkempt and ragged, but this remained the same. A reminder. 

He puts the marble back, takes off his work boots, and lies down on his bed. He doesn't bother with the rest of his clothes; it'll be a while before he's ready to fall asleep. His eyes focus on the ceiling of his tiny apartment, tracing the crack that spiders outward from the place where the ceiling meets the wall. His mind wanders. 

At first, his thoughts circle around the concept of what his life might be like if he hadn't fucked up so monumentally. Who would he be if he hadn't built Independence? Would he still be an artist? He certainly wouldn't have had reason to leave his friends behind. He carefully does _ not _ think of the locket or the gun that also rest in his nightstand.

But those thoughts give way to a different sort of "what-if." What if he'd accepted Palaver's offer? Where would they have gone? Would he even drink? What could he possibly talk about? 

He runs through those questions, unable to come up with any satisfactory answers. Eventually, he rises, divests himself of the day's work clothes, and gets ready for bed. Those questions would have to remain unanswered. It isn't worth thinking about anyway.

When he finally goes to sleep, he dreams of Signet offering him a beer on the surface of Volition. 

*

Despite seeming like she dropped the issue after his first refusal, Palaver asks him three more times, all of which he declines. Every time, she shrugs and says, "Suit yourself." By the fourth time, she doesn't even say that. 

It's unclear even to Grand what happened between the eleventh and twelfth time she asks. It's like something inside him snaps. He opens his mouth to decline as usual, but what actually comes out of his mouth is a mildly exasperated, "Sure, why not?"

Palaver begins to say, "Suit yourself," but stops mid-word to squawk, "What?" 

"I said 'sure,'" Grand repeats. He continues, "It's not like I have anything better going on tonight." 

Still obviously in shock, Palaver nods. "Yeah. Great. Cool. Uh, I guess once we're off duty, we can catch a ride to The Rusty Nail?" 

Before he can give himself a chance to back out of it, Grand nods. "Yeah, sure." 

*

He doesn't get drunk, but he does have a couple of beers. It's been so long since he's had any alcohol that its enough for a warm buzz that makes him feel perhaps a little friendlier than he normally would. His coworkers smile at him and clap him on the back and tell him how glad they are that he finally decided to join them. 

It's almost enough to make him believe they want him around. 

He goes back next week, and the next. He gets into his first bar fight, but he isn't by himself: Coriander Lovelace takes a couple of swings on his behalf. They get thrown out on their asses and banned from the bar for at least a month. Cori and Palaver just laugh it off and help him limp home.

The next fight he gets into is entirely his fault, and he gives as good as he gets this time around. He gets banned from _ that _ bar for the rest of his life, but his coworkers—no, his _ friends_—just laugh it off and gently cuff him in the shoulder and tell him "good job" for bloodying the other guy's nose.

That's when he realizes that maybe, just maybe, he might deserve a future instead of just dwelling on his past.

He goes home that night and drops the marble down the garbage chute. Then he pulls out an old fashioned paper pad and a pen. He's not interested in designing things—not anymore—but if he's going to keep Even's old gun, he might as well modify it so it looks _ good. _


End file.
